


swallowing the shine of the sun

by saucerfulofsins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drug Use, First Kiss, Getting high, Gratituous Making Out, M/M, Masturbation, PornHug, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Smoking, Underage Keith, Weed Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucerfulofsins/pseuds/saucerfulofsins
Summary: Shiro and Keith, becoming space cadets (wink wink nudge nudge). Or: they get stoned and become something else.





	swallowing the shine of the sun

Keith knows he’s taking a risk. 

He assumes Shiro won’t mind but there is no dead certainty here. Yet, he has the joint between his fingers and aimlessly fumbles with it—it’s been a while since he last got high and he is looking forward to it, but he wants to share and he doesn’t want to hide this from Shiro.

He hears someone climb the stairs maybe ten minutes later, and when he peers around the metal AC unit, he finds Shiro, apologetically waving at him as he hurries towards their hiding place on the roof. “Sorry, meeting ran late. Kerberos stuff, you know?” He’s carrying his leather jacket over his arm; it’s still hot outside but that will change once the sun sets. Keith quietly curses himself when he remembers that he didn’t bring a jacket of his own—he’s in his civvies, wearing worn-down blue jeans and a soft black shirt that he feels most comfortable in.

“Hey,” he greets Shiro. “Don’t worry about it, I kinda figured that’s what happened.” The preparation for the Kerberos mission has been intensifying with the approaching launch date—Keith’s not happy about the amount of Shiro’s time it is starting to take up, especially now that it is starting to wear him down, but he is happy to see that getting to go on a proper space mission still excites Shiro. “I have something for you, though. This.”

He holds up the joint and Shiro’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he schools his face into something sterner, the likes of which Keith is mostly familiar to seeing in the classroom or after disappointing Shiro. “Ah, no,” he says. “That is technically contraband, cadet.”

For a split-second, Keith thinks Shiro might be serious, and then Shiro breaks out in a shit-eating grin. Keith is glad that when they’re breaking the rules, Shiro can’t keep a strict face the way he does when he’s talking to fellow officers or his superiors. “I mean, if you are entirely opposed to joining me, I can smoke all of it myself,” he informs Shiro with an eyeroll, just for good measure. “You know, if you take issue with filling your lungs with cancerous substances.”

“After the day I’ve had, I really don’t,” Shiro shakes his head. “I feel dead inside anyway. Show me?”

“Show you what?”

“How to smoke, of course,” Shiro smiles. He crosses his legs and looks up at Keith expectantly. “Come on, sit down. I’m not gonna have you written down for the possession of a contraband item if I’m getting something out of it too.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that—not Shiro’s entire absence of disappointment in Shiro, but Keith always figured that Shiro, with his leather jacket and his hoverbike stunts, would at least have tried smoking during his teen years. “Yeah, okay, of course. You sure?”

“Sure, I am.” In the setting sun, Shiro looks especially gorgeous and Keith’s heart skips a beat before stuttering back into action. His grey-brown eyes on him never fail to make him nervous, the butterflies in his stomach swarming into something bigger, spreading through his limbs and letting his fingers tremble.

He gets down on his knees, too jittery to sit down comfortably, and he hopes that the pot will soothe his nerves because he wants to enjoy all the time he gets with Shiro, especially now that it has become more precious than ever.

His lighter is old, and cheap, and it takes a few tries before he gets a flame going—and then a little longer before he burns off the excess paper and gets the joint going properly. He is so focused that he doesn’t catch Shiro staring at him and chuckling quietly until he’s inhaled his first decent toke.

“What?” he asks, smoke escaping his mouth.

“Nothing,” Shiro says although Keith knows that is a lie—Shiro doesn’t laugh without reason, even though he rarely laughs at someone. “That was cute.”

Heat immediately rushes to Keith’s cheeks.

“Aw,” Shiro continues. “C’mon. You are, and someone needs to tell you.”

_Cute_ makes Keith feel like a girl, something dainty and frail which he’s not—and something _Shiro_ knows he’s not. At the same time, the word rolling from Shiro’s tongue like that makes him feel special, like maybe something exists between them after all, although Keith is too young and a cadet and someone like Shiro would not, _could_ not—

He takes a deep breath before bringing the joint back to his mouth. “So, obviously you inhale,” he mutters, “definitely not too deep if it’s your first time smoking.” Shiro’s eyes are glued to his mouth, his finger, and Keith fights the shiver that runs through his body. His groin tingles, dick chubbing up in his pants and he ignores all of that, because he needs to ignore how blatantly sexual this feels.

“Yeah,” Shiro nods, like he’s mentally taking notes.

“Keep it in for a while.” His voice sounds strained, his longs full of air and tingling smoke while he stares back at Shiro. Lost in thought on how good Shiro looks and how much better he’d look with a doobie in his mouth, he manages to exhale half into Shiro’s face before remembering to divert and Shiro chuckles quietly.

Shiro takes the roach between two fingers Keith watches his lips furl around the paper and his heart skips another beat. This will be the death of him, Shiro’s hitching inhale and the puff of smoke that escapes his mouth. He suppresses a cough and Keith smiles, taking back the joint.

“Not too deep, I told you,” he teases Shiro.

“I’m definitely not used to hearing _that_,” Shiro winks and this time the arousal in Keith’s stomach twinges into something sharper. He keeps up the eye contact as he takes another drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and feeling the rush of the weed and nicotine go to his head. It is true that the joint is stronger than he’s used to, decent weed that’s going to get him high even when sharing—he doesn’t blame Shiro for taking it easy.

He wonders if he should suggest diluting the smoke for Shiro and imagines leaning in, blowing a cloud into Shiro’s mouth, Shiro’s lips half open and so close—

Keith shakes his head to rid himself of the image. “Here,” he says. “It helps if you take a drag and then breathe in some extra fresh air. Against coughing, I mean.”

Shiro nods and looks at Keith, taking another hesitant toke. Keith is starting to feel light-headed, settling pleasantly heavy into his limbs and becoming weighed down by some invisible anchor, grounded beside Shiro. The heat Shiro exudes is more inviting than usual, and this time after Shiro takes his turn and moves to hand off the joint to Keith he says, “No, thanks. I’m good for now—probably later, yeah?”

Shiro nods and looks at the joint. This time he inhales deeper and Keith can barely save the joint from falling to the roof when Shiro begins to cough, his chest heaving as he puts his hand over it—and Keith damns himself for not bringing water as he stubs out the half-smoked joint and puts it back in its plastic tube.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asks, and Shiro nods, holding up a finger as if to say _just one sec_. “I don’t have any water here, I can—”

“I’ll be fine,” Shiro wheezes, taking slow deep breaths through his nose before coughing again. He wipes the tears from his eyes and then looks at Keith, struggling to breathe evenly but finally managing. “Shit, I should’ve known that would happen.”

“What?” he says, sitting down in the gravel beside Shiro now that he’s satisfied Shiro won’t choke.

“The coughing,” Shiro shrugs. “Sorry, I lied. I’ve smoked before, but it’s been—a while.” Keith raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know, I wanted to see how you’d explain.”

“Oh.” He feels like an idiot and feels his face turn red in shame. Normally, he’d try to hide a flush from Shiro’s view but there is no place to hide on the barren roof. They’re not supposed to be up here; the stairs are technically only for the maintenance of the building’s AC unit they are hiding behind and the satellite installed on the other side of the roof. Keith wouldn’t have known about the spot at all if Shiro hadn’t showed him, and it’s one of the reasons he’s managing to flourish within the Garrison’s strict structures at all—a way out of its oppressive hierarchy, even if only for a few minutes at a time.

He plucks at a small stubborn twig that has sprouted up from between the gravel and Shiro laughs quietly. “I clearly needed the instructions, still,” he tells Keith. “Look at me, hacking up a lung like an idiot who hasn’t smoked before.”

Keith shrugs. “Do you even feel the pot?” He’s starting to feel the drugs take over, the pleasant haze washing over him as his embarrassment over not realising Shiro was teasing him dies down.

“Yeah,” Shiro hums quietly. “Strong weed, enough to make me feel lightheaded. Kinda warm, kinda relaxed. It’s nice.” Keith nods. “Like I’m on cotton wool clouds.”

Keith chuckles, finally daring to lean a little bit closer because he craves the human touch; an elaborate fantasy of curling up against Shiro and falling asleep pops up in his head. “This isn’t acid, man.”

“No,” Shiro agrees, “but it’s still nice.”

They sit in quietude for a while. Keith thought about bringing up a speaker, but he decided not to—and the quiet hum of the desert around them, of the AC unit buzzing behind them, lulls him to ease regardless.

Shiro’s arm wraps around him at some point and does pull him closer. Keith doesn’t go to sleep mostly because he refuses to close his eyes. He wants to enjoy the experience of his side pressed to strong muscle as much as possible and he’s surprised that it’s this comfortable, even if they haven’t touched much like this before and Keith isn’t usually very tactile.

“Your hair is so soft,” Shiro mumbles when Keith is thinking about how the mountains in the distance look like a heartbeat on one of those green-and-white hospital monitors, imagines the chirping bird sings his heart’s steady thump, now hammering faster in response Shiro’s compliment. Two large fingers straighten out one of his half-curls before letting the strand spring back into place.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, I guess?”

“Feels nice.” Shiro’s voice sounds lower now and Keith suppresses a shiver. “Can I touch it?”

“You already are.” Keith snorts; he needs something to divert his attention from the heat that’s coursing through his body. “But yeah, go ahead.”

Shiro gently scratches his fingers over his scalp, with just enough pressure to be ticklish. Keith can’t help the quiet groan that slips from his chest and if Shiro notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he runs his fingers front to back and then from the crane of his neck back to his forehead, messing up the flow of Keith’s hair as Shiro pushes half of it into his face until Keith starts to laugh. He doesn’t mind, not when it’s Shiro touching him like this, sending sparks of electricity down his spine in the best way possible.

He relaxes further into the touches when Shiro begins to twirl his hair around his fingers, leaning against Shiro with his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes closed as he loses himself in the moment. He feels good under Shiro’s gentle ministrations, his breath ghosting over Keith’s hair as he gently pulls at it. He moves his touch down to his back, rubbing muscles that are always tender from PT, from sitting in school benches, from biting back his words because Keith does not want to get into trouble—and more than that, he does not want to get Shiro into trouble.

“You like this,” Shiro states and Keith nods, hums quietly. “I’ve never seen you this calm. Kinda like a kitten.”

“Shut up,” Keith all but growls, and promptly refuses to linger on the irony.

“Are you going to start purring soon?” he teases.

He might, he thinks. He could, vibrating with the staticky pleasure of Shiro’s gentle touch on his back and enhanced by the weed—the _cotton cloud_ Shiro described it as. The gravel under his ass is too solid and pebbly to be comfortable in any way but he does feel high, floaty and worriless enough to ask questions that he’s never dared to ask before.

“When did you first fall in love?” he murmurs. The fingers running up and down his back slow down but don’t stop, and he’s grateful because he’s not ready for the soothing gesture to stop.

Keith can’t see Shiro’s smile but he can hear hit in his voice when he responds. “I was sixteen, and he was in my class before I left for the Garrison. Kind of a bad boy, leather jacket,” gently punctuating himself by bumping his side against Keith, “with long dark hair that he kept in a braid. I didn’t even realise what was going on at first, I just wanted to keep looking at him forever.”

Keith laughs—he can’t quite tell whether Shiro is keeping all of the details true to his own life or if he’s embellishing elements, alluding to Keith’s perpetual crush on Shiro.

“No, really!” Shiro chuckles along with him. “I didn’t know how to identify those feelings, I just thought I liked his style or that wanted to be like him?”

“You didn’t know you’re gay?” Keith asks. They haven’t discussed sexuality before, although Shiro doesn’t keep his preference secret. Keith is more private, but Shiro’s never had an issue looking right through him, and he’s pretty sure that his crush on Shiro is public knowledge in the halls of the Garrison by now anyway.

Shiro shakes his head and drops his hand from Keith’s back to let it rest on his waist. Keith tucks himself against Shiro as he listens to the lull of his calm voice. “Didn’t even suspect it, although in hindsight I definitely had a couple of crushes on boys before that. But then one of my friends fell in love and he talked about how he felt and I just—had a quiet realisation, I guess.”

Keith nods. “I knew. About myself, I mean, even before you visited my class for recruitment. I don’t even know how, I just always figured that I was, and then I was.” Licking his lips, he snorts. “I guess it was a bit of a shock for you, then?”

Shiro shrugs. “Kind of? I was always top of my class and popular, and good at sports, so I didn’t—this is going to sound ridiculous, but I thought that being gay meant to be part of the outcast, and I wasn’t. Never had any issue with the gay kids in my school, though, and once I figured it out, I wasn’t going to beat myself up for the way I felt just because my family and I expected something different. They didn't either, by the way, not after they wrapped their head around the idea.”

“Did anything ever happen between you and him?”

More quiet laughter. “No, no. I was recruited before I graduated and put on the fast-track, I sat my exams here at the Garrison concurrent with the intro classes.” A pause. “You reminded me of him, a little.”

Keith smiles, his chest filling with warmth. “What was that, then? My dark hair and amazing jawline?”

“That too,” Shiro chuckles. “But he was nice, you know. I did hang out with him a couple of times. Long enough to figure out he wasn’t the criminal the teachers saw him as.”

“Just misunderstood?”

Shiro nods. “Yeah and hurt by too many people in his past. He didn’t deserve any of what happened to him.”

Keith hums. He knows that Shiro could as well be describing him, although he hopes this guy got lucky and has a Shiro in his life as well. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. I lost touch of him some time ago, but the last we spoke he was heading down to live in the city for an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour.”

“Living up to his bad boy imago, then.” He can imagine a different life for Shiro, one where he settled into suburbia with his tattoo artist boyfriend, covered in ink under stark white shirts.

“Yeah. And he was nowhere near the pilot you are, he crashed within three seconds of getting into the simulator. That might still be the record, actually.” When he looks up at Shiro, he finds calm grey eyes looking down at him. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” Keith shrugs, defiantly looking back at Shiro. “I mean, there is someone I like, but I wouldn’t know what love feels like.” A lie, he thinks. 

“What is he like?” Shiro asks and Keith’s stomach flips in his stomach. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised—even without the rumour mill at work, Keith knows he isn’t subtle around Shiro. At the same time, he’s never been entirely upfront, and he’s not about to change now.

“He’s kind,” he says. “Tall and with a gorgeous smile.” Shiro smiles and nods. He moves his arm up until it’s wrapped around Keith’s shoulders and he can rub his thumb over Keith’s shoulder in half-circles. “Kind of a bad boy too, I guess, although he likes to pretend to be good.”

“Do I know him?” Shiro teases and Keith ducks his head out of the way, trying to hide his helpless smile. He knows fully well that everyone Keith knows these days, Shiro does too. 

“Maybe,” he mutters. “Maybe not.” He’s starting to feel jittery in a way he shouldn’t _have_ to right now and he needs to divert the subject, needs something else to do so he asks, “Do you want more?”

Shiro’s fingers slow down. “More pot?” He nods. “Yeah, that’d be good. You know, if I don’t choke again.”

“You won’t,” Keith assures him, grinning. “Just take it easy.”

He grabs the plastic container from where he stuck it between two pebbles for safekeeping and digs up the lighter from his back pocket. Still leaning against Shiro, he reignites the tip and sucks on the roach until he gets the grass burning properly, sweet smoke filling his mouth.

“You shouldn’t waste that when you exhale,” Shiro says, knocking his head to Keith’s on a quiet sigh.

“What?” The comment is unexpected and Keith breathes out before the words sink in, suppressing a cough. “I mean—what?”

Shiro chuckles. “I’m sorry, we don’t have much left and uh—my friends and I, we’d shotgun when we didn’t have much pot.”

“Oh.” Heat creeps up his cheeks; after months of featuring in Keith’s fantasies in a variety of ways, the idea of those plush lips so close to his own sends his heart racing. “We can do that,” he manages, his throat burning dry.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks.

Keith knows he can tell Shiro _no_ or shake his head, can do a multitude of things to let Shiro know that he can’t follow through, that the hesitance Shiro picked up on is real and maybe shotgunning is something he needs to think on for a while. He’s dreamt about that mouth pursed around his dick more than a few nights and he might explode, spill his heart’s contents all over Shiro if they do this and he loses control.

Instead he brings the joint back up to his lips. He needs to relight it, focuses on the spark of his lighter until the tobacco and weed glow in red embers, and inhales deeply. His lungs fill, fuller than he’d usually choose to—and maybe he wants the extra smoke there for reasons he can’t think on too hard right now.

Shiro makes himself accessible in a way that nearly punches all breath out of Keith, amazing him in the way he leans back on his arms with his legs casually stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He waits, his eyes half-lidded in anticipation when Keith closes in on him.

He puts three fingers to Shiro’s jaw, maybe under the pretence of steading himself. Mostly he does it to feel the sharp cut of Shiro’s jaw for himself now that he finally has a reason to. Shiro’s mouth opens and Keith is careful not to get too close when he exhales. He knows he could maybe make this sexier in an attempt at seducing Shiro—and he’s _seen_ sexier shotgunning, but his heart is beating out of his chest and he doesn’t want to push Shiro into discomfort.

Shiro inhales until the last wisp of smoke is gone and Keith’s chest feels empty, like Shiro swallowed his heart along with everything else. He holds Keith’s gaze when he exhales, the already-stale smoke quickly dissipating into the cooling desert air.

The sun is quickly setting, and when Keith takes another toke, the red tip burns brighter.

This time he pulls back when he thinks Shiro nods forward—the proximity scares him because suddenly he is dead certain that the moment they touch, he won’t be capable of controlling himself. Keith may be inexperienced, and he may be young, but most of all he is so desperately in love with his best friend that this moment might prove to be too much for him.

“Relax,” Shiro mutters as he exhales again. “C’mere, let me take a hit first.”

Keith nods but doesn’t hand off the doobie.

“I’m serious, Keith. You look like you’re about to get a heart attack.”

“I’m fine,” he mutters demurely. So much of the time, he feels like a child near Shiro, inferior, even if Shiro has never given him any reason to—this is all Keith’s own paranoia, a deep-instilled fear that he won’t be good enough, even though he’s seventeen with twice his life’s worth of bad experiences under his belt and he will be close to nineteen by the time Shiro is set to return from Kerberos.

“Do you _want_ more?”

The question is innocuous enough and Keith knows it—and he would have declined if he hadn’t felt like smoking more. Instead he nods.

He wants more.

And he wants more of Shiro’s _mouth_.

Shiro inhales deep and slow, his eyes closing entirely and his dark lashes fanning out over his cheeks. They look long and soft against the faint blush, the gentle smile that seems cemented to Shiro’s face around Keith. He’s heard some different stories from Griffin and Kinkade after _they_ got caught sneaking around after curfew; he knows no one else is going to be doing this with Shiro.

He gets up on his scruffy knees and Shiro brings up a hand to steady Keith’s face, two fingers on his chin until Keith opens his mouth. Shiro isn’t careful the way Keith was, immediately leaning a little too close so their lips brush—only the faintest drag of skin on skin, but Keith realises all-too-vividly that he has Shiro’s spit on his mouth. Once he’s filled his lungs and Shiro is leaning back, Keith licks his lips. He wants to touch his mouth with his fingers, chase the feeling of Shiro there like it’s something corporeal; he wants to stare at Shiro in awe and move back in for seconds.

Shiro is quiet as he takes in the sight of Keith again; his eyes are starting to turn redder, his irises blown wide and dropping down to Keith’s mouth.

Keith tells himself that he’s seeing things. Tells himself that this is his imagination running wild with the wishful thinking that might well be a side-effect to the weed that is starting to course through his system, dulling his synapses and slowing his thoughts into low-key arousal.

Yet, he leans close when Shiro takes another deep drag and listens when Shiro tells him, “Mouth open, babe”.

Their mouths touch before Keith can process the endearment, and the weed doesn’t let him flinch away this time. Keith is hyperaware of the contact as Shiro continues to exhale, as Shiro presses a little closer, a little closer, a little closer, they meet in an open-mouthed kiss.

And Keith has kissed some people before, a couple of girls and one boy, once, all before coming to the Garrison and most on dares that _he_ got nothing out of, but nothing compares to this.

“Shiro,” he whispers, almost-whimpers, and Shiro looks up at him.

“_Yeah_.”

Shiro passes the joint back to Keith and lets their fingers brush too long, too tenderly, and Keith’s stomach takes a tumble in his chest—and he still doesn’t know how to deal with this situation. It’s too foreign, too _soft_, too much like something he _needs_ now that it is within reach, leaving him with a desperate hollow ache in his chest.

He feels Shiro watch him as he inhales. Shiro’s hand closes over Keith’s when he reaches out and touches his jaw, like Shiro wants to keep his touch there and keep Keith close.

“Oh,” he stutters with full lungs, closer to Shiro, braver, pressing their lips back together.

Shiro inhales; Keith feels the air current along his own skin before he exhales, back into Keith’s mouth, and he tastes the last of the smoke as Shiro’s tongue flicks up against his teeth.

Keith is frozen in place; he is too scared to make a move but too tired to move away and waits instead, for Shiro to do what he wants to.

The kiss is barely-there, close-mouthed before Shiro pulls away and looks at Keith, studying his response. He’s not sure how he _could_ when he is speechless still, breathless, so instead he reaches for the joint again. He needs the safeguard for now, to let Shiro know that he wants this without needing to ask.

Shiro takes the joint from his fingers once he’s inhaled, pressing it out against the gravel that covers the roof. Then he pulls Keith closer, almost off-balance, pushing their mouths together as Keith exhales. He doesn’t notice Shiro exhale this time; instead, Shiro kisses him—properly this time, slipping his tongue into Keith’s mouth. He kisses back, feels the texture of Shiro’s lips and his teeth, and allows himself to get lost in the feeling.

The tension in his stomach finally uncoils and Shiro pulls Keith closer until he crawls into his lap, still a little taller than Shiro from this angle and loving it as he pushes his fingers into Shiro’s hair, both hands at once.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into Shiro’s mouth, and then Shiro is pushing back in for more, kissing each corner of Keith’s lips, licking his tongue over them like he’s wetting them for Keith, helping him that way. The moment Keith opens his mouth again, Shiro licks into him again and Keith can’t stop kissing him, doesn’t _want_ to when Shiro feels, tastes so wonderful, so much more real than he could have thought of in his fantasies.

“Keith,” Shiro sighs into the kiss.

“This isn’t how people usually shotgun, right?” He whispers in return, and Shiro laughs, squeezes his hip. “This is something else, wow.” He needs to say it, needs to hear Shiro’s recognition—just so he can get it through his own thick skull that this is no fluke.

“Yeah, it is,” Shiro says. “Something else. Is this bad? Shouldn’t I have?”

He sounds uncharacteristically self-conscious and Keith shakes his head before deepening the kiss again. He moves with a quiet desperation, until Shiro’s thumb swipes over his cheek and he remembers to slow down with the quiet realisation that if Shiro wants to kiss him now, he’ll probably want to kiss Keith more some other time.

Shiro guides him, slowing him down or speeding back up, until Keith is a trembling, whimpering mess. As his confidence grows, he begins to explore, rubbing his swollen wet lips against Shiro’s in lieu of a proper kiss or sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and teasing at it with his teeth until Shiro moans quietly.

“How long?” Shiro asks when Keith finally sits back, still breathless and amazed at kissing him.

“A while,” he confesses. “I don’t exactly know, from the moment you entered the classroom I thought you were attractive—but then you were nice and smart, too.”

Shiro nods, motioning for Keith to sit back down beside him. He stays quiet for a while as Keith crawls in beside him, still shaky but not nervous when Shiro wraps an arm around him. He pulls Keith close and Keith circles his arm around Shiro’s waist—he feels Shiro’s muscle through his shirt, the gentle sway of his breath. Shiro immediately relaxes into Keith’s touch, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. He’s smiling dopily and Keith wants to press his mouth to the upwards slope of his lips, but he’s too comfortable to crane his neck and instead settles for a kiss to Shiro’s arm around his shoulder.

“I thought so,” Shiro eventually says. “I’m going to say something that I didn’t tell you before, but I first need you to know that you’re not the _reason_ for the break-up. Adam did struggle with our friendship. I think he might have seen this coming before I did.”

“What, how?”

“You took up so much of my time, at some point,” Shiro huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know, a lot of things here at the Garrison felt dull and unexciting, and then you arrived. You reminded me of daring a little more. Of living a little more free, you know? The hoverbike racing—it was so much more fun with someone else there.”

Keith nods, rubbing his head against Shiro’s shoulder as he does so. “Yeah, that was pretty awesome.” He can’t help grinning as he remembers the first couple of times they’d gone out, chasing Shiro’s excited whoops as they drove through the desert.

“But you’re also—you?” Shiro continues. “And I didn’t, um. I didn’t expect to get feelings for you. I mean, I noticed you looking at me even before that—but I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you. This isn’t some rebound thing.”

Keith hadn’t thought it was, hadn’t even considered that as a possibility, but he says, “Okay,” because he believes Shiro. He’s always going to, he thinks, because Shiro has never been anything but honest with him.

“And I know that you are young but not in the same way as your classmates.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “Makes sense, with dad, and the orphanage, and just, all of that shit.” He feels old sometimes, like he has suffered too much to be a true seventeen-year-old; life has a habit of wearing him down, and laughter hasn’t come easy to Keith since his dad died. It’s easier to be close to Shiro than it is to be close to someone who’s his own age.

He has talked to Shiro about all those feelings; the idea that no one cares for him, that he has to fend for himself and push away people when they do care because he knows that eventually they’ll leave him. And it hurts immensely that Shiro will leave him too, but he realises that isn’t because of him. He keeps telling himself that Shiro is only going to travel, and then he’s going to come back to Keith. Right after he heard he would be piloting the Kerberos mission, Shiro promised to stay in contact with Keith in any way possible.

“Yeah, and that makes sense,” Shiro nods. “But you’re also—you’re gorgeous, and breath-taking, and so talented which I think might be a _thing_ for me at this point.” He laughs at himself, shaking his head before continuing, “I thought that I shouldn’t make a move on you because you’re younger, and because you’re a cadet, but I know plenty of guys who date girls a couple of years younger and _that’s_ never been a problem.”

“I don’t think this is a problem, either,” Keith tells Shiro. “I know you’re a good guy, and I’m glad—I’m glad you kissed me. Wow.”

He remembers it now, the slick slide of Shiro’s tongue against his own, and heat rises to his cheeks again. Shiro laughs quietly enough that Keith only feels it in the quiet rocking of the larger body against his own. When he looks up, it is to see Shiro watch the sunset, impossibly distant now that the light has almost entirely dipped behind the horizon. The sky has shifted from orange to a deep purple, and Keith waits until Shiro turns to look at him again and the first stars are growing in intensity overhead.

His expression doesn’t change; Shiro still looks exuberant when he leans into Keith.

The weed hasn’t worn off yet, or maybe it has, and Keith is only giddy from the feeling of Shiro’s soft lips on his own. He kisses back and tries to take this easy, even when Shiro playfully nips at his lip until Keith giggles.

“Stop it,” he mutters before trying to get back at Shiro, already clambering back into his lap.

He’s pushing his hands into Shiro’s hair, pushing his fringe back and forward again until it tickles against his own forehead where the wind has swept his fringe out of the way. It’s soft, finer in structure than his own and fluffy. Keith knows Shiro is vain about his hair, he has seen the excess of products in Shiro’s small bathroom. He smells good, like after-shave and weed and the leather of his jacket that he still hasn’t put on, the sun still warm enough although the air is quickly cooling down now.

Keith barely notices the chill, the heat coming off Shiro’s body leaves him more than comfortable, cosy in his place as they continue to kiss for however long—until the sunlight finally fades entirely and purple changes to grey and then to the starry sky that envelops the desert.

He notices the shift between them, Shiro letting him take over so Keith gets to explore Shiro’s mouth and his neck some more, gets to lick up the salt and the bitter leftovers from his after-shave.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Shiro pants, and Keith’s stomach flutters with heat.

“Yeah?” he whispers against the hot skin.

Shiro nods. He’s touching Keith again, his hand finding the place on Keith’s hip that seems to quickly be becoming his favourite place, his thumb slotting into the dip above Keith’s hipbone and rubbing at the hem of his shirt until he’s pushed it up far enough that he’s touching Keith’s bare skin. Once he gets some time alone later tonight, Keith is going to be thinking about this and having a damn good time on his own.

“Really fucking good,” Shiro reaffirms, throwing his head back farther so Keith has better access.

Emboldened by the words, Keith reaches up to pull the neck of Shiro’s shirt to the side, exposing even more skin. He’s continuously impressed by the sheer amount of muscle that Shiro packs, the amount of time he puts into keeping his body healthy, but right now he is only focused on getting his mouth on it.

He kisses the warm skin he finds a couple of times before he eases his teeth over it; Shiro’s hitching breath is enough to spur him on. He brushes his own hair out of the way, away from where strands stuck to his kiss-slick lips, and then begins to suck in earnest; Shiro’s hand tightens on his hips and he groans quietly. Keith moans in response as heat rockets through his body, knowing that he’s turning on Shiro, and then bites harder—he knows he’s almost mean and hopes that he doesn’t actually hurt Shiro, although the way his breath speeds up is only positive.

“Oh god,” Shiro says once Keith pulls back, wiping his lips.

“Yeah?” he mutters. “I just—” he breathes, focusing on the bright red spot on Shiro’s neck and rubbing his thumb across it, making Shiro shiver again. He doesn’t know how to end the sentence, only that he couldn’t not bite Shiro, an unbeatable primal urge that came from someplace deep inside of him.

“Kiss me again,” Shiro tells him. “Fuck, I just—”

And Keith can feel everything, his hands and his breath and Shiro’s hard dick, pressing up against Keith’s ass. He’s pretty sure Shiro can feel him too, and he doesn’t want to act on it now—it’s too fast, too soon, but he can’t resist grinding his hips down a couple of times. The weed makes his entire body feel sensual, pleasantly warm and in touch with himself, with Shiro, as he moves in for another kiss, another, _another_.

He's not sure how long they spend making out on the roof, but eventually the floodlights surrounding the Garrison complex dim for the night and Shiro breaks the kiss again, gently tucking stray strands of Keith’s hair behind his ears as he smiles.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says. Now that the pot has worn off, Keith finally becomes aware of how he does feel tired, lethargic almost, and certainly unwilling to move away from Shiro’s hot lap. He does understand the need for it—it is a weeknight; they both have to be up early tomorrow.

“Yeah,” he reluctantly agrees. “I guess.”

“Come on,” Shiro says, helping Keith up. “You’ve got goosebumps, you’re getting cold.”

Keith sticks out his tongue but Shiro wraps his too-large leather jacket around Keith’s shoulders anyway, although getting into the dormitories will take maybe five minutes and Keith is hardly going to freeze to death in that time.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?” Shiro tells him, his hand finding Keith’s and lacing their fingers together. If Keith had any remaining doubt about Shiro’s intentions, that is all lost now; his touch is too considerate and gentle, and his smile too sincere.

He takes a good look at Shiro once they’re in the well-lit corridor of the Garrison. His lips are kiss-swollen and Keith flushes as he realises the bite marks—the ones_ he left there_—extend beyond his lips. There are little red spots along Shiro’s jaw and neck from where he nipped at the skin and didn’t realise that apparently, he dug in too hard, little dots where sharp incisors nearly pierced the skin, and Keith shivers again.

He walks with Shiro to his room where, after Shiro looks left and right to check for anyone approaching, pecks his lips again. “Go sleep, Keith.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Uh. I will. After I shower. I really need to shower first.” What he really needs to do is deal with the ache between his legs before he can sleep at all, and at this time Garrett and Kinkade are going to be sleeping in their own bunks so he will be doing that in the shower.

He sees the flush spread over Shiro’s nose when he realises what Keith is getting at, the stutter of his chest. “Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah you—shit. You should do that.”

More than anything, Keith loves seeing Shiro affected by the things he says. He is tired though, and while he knows he could keep teasing for a little while longer and would love to see that flush spread lower, he needs to get to bed sometime within the next thirty minutes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, standing up on his toes, “please go to bed, Shiro. You’re busy tomorrow.” He brushes his mouth along Shiro’s jaw before kissing his cheek and Shiro sighs.

“Good night, Keith,” he says, turning to the side and kissing Keith’s lips one last time. He’s tempted to pull Shiro close for another heated kiss, but he knows that he can’t, not right here and certainly not right now, not if he wants to hit the showers before the final call for curfew.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah.”

He splits up from Shiro after, heading for the cadet rooms while Shiro heads upstairs to the officers’ living quarters. The room is dark, and he finds his way around by touch, grabbing his toiletries, underwear and slides and socks before heading to the showers.

At this time of the night it’s quiet and Keith prefers it that way; looking in the mirror, he finally touches his fingers to his mouth and smiles. His lips are red and while his neck isn’t ruined the way Shiro’s is, he can still feel the path Shiro kissed down to his sternum until Keith was squirming in his lap. He traces the touch down and closes his eyes, imagining Shiro was still with him, quietly watching him.

Shower, he reminds himself, checking all stalls to find the cleanest in the corner. Perhaps the weed hasn’t fully worn off; the lights are too bright, and he feels every brush of fabric against his sensitive skin as he takes off his clothes. Shampoo, shower gel. Towel, slides.

He shivers as he turns on the shower and jumps back to avoid the freezing water. It does nothing to quell his hard-on and it doesn’t need to; there’s a wet spot at the front of the underwear he dropped to the floor as he stepped out of them and he shudders when he remembers Shiro touching his hip. Following the jut of bone, Keith slides his own fingers a little lower until they hit the coarse hair and he shudders, closing his eyes and biting back a moan. Shiro could have, he thinks. Shiro might, even before he leaves, curl his fingers around Keith’s dick.

This time, his grunt resonates against the walls, blending in with the clatter of water on white tiles. The shower’s heated up and he gets under the spray, quivering as he feels the spray hit his dick. He angles it up to his stomach and, remembering Shiro sucking his tongue into his mouth, finds himself topple over the edge, too worked up to hold back and wait any longer. If they’d gone on for five more minutes he’d have come in his pants but now his dick bounces in the spray of the water as he spills onto the tiles, the mess washed down the drain right away.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and he wishes Shiro was with him. There is no doubt, he thinks, that Shiro is getting off as well. He remembers the heat, remembers the hard line of Shiro’s dick against his groin, and his half-hard dick twitches like he didn’t just get off. He’s too worked up, maybe, and he knows that if he gives it a few minutes he’ll be ready to go again.

In the meantime, he washes his hair and regrets washing Shiro’s touch from his skin, sending it down the drain after his come. He’d have liked to keep the feeling, Shiro’s lips and his fingers and scent that he wants all over him, all the time. Shiro washing his hair, maybe, standing behind him in the little stall, huge expanses of hot skin and a hard dick pressing against the small of Keith’s back.

This time he strokes his dick more slowly, using his free hand to trail his hand through his hair the way Shiro touched him, down his neck where Shiro kissed him, over his hip once more until he twitches into his own touch. He remembers Shiro’s quiet gasps, panting and groaning into Keith’s mouth as he kept him close, his teeth sliding over Keith’s lips—and finds that yes, they are still swollen, still tender, but tasting sweeter now that water runs down his face and losing their metallic tang.

His moan echoes through the room and he throws his head back as he braces himself against the wall with his free hand. Widening his stance, he pulls up more memories—Shiro’s lips curled around the roach, Shiro’s wide eyes looking up at him before he kissed Keith for the first time, the exposed skin of Shiro’s shoulder that Keith sucked a hickey into. He still remembers the tang of his skin and aftershave and he’s eager to learn more, learn how different spots on Shiro’s body taste and hear and see how Shiro responds to that.

Circling back, Keith reminds himself of the hard press of Shiro’s dick, of rocking himself into the touch those few times and remembering the arousal that crept through his body. This way, it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard again, his hips stuttering forwards into his steady fist as he imagines Shiro to be with him, Shiro watching him, Shiro back in his room right now and in bed, his head thrown back as he quietly moans Keith’s name.

“_Shiro_,” he tries, tastes, the first time he’s dared to because before it would’ve felt like sacrilege. Even now, the name rolls off his lips like it’s sweet candy, filling him with satisfaction. He does it again on the tail-end of a moan and imagines Shiro listening. His breath stocks halfway through as he screws his hips forward into the tight circle of his fist.

He needs something more, a final boost to tip himself over the edge, recalls images of Shiro with his shirt half up as he used the hem to dry his forehead after PT, Shiro sitting with a dopey smile on his face after smoking weed, Shiro hooting and screaming and looking back over his shoulder at Keith as he made Keith chase him on an illicitly borrowed hoverbike.

And he recalls Shiro looking at him, two fingers on Keith’s chin, in the moment before pulling him in for another kiss. Wrapped in his arms, their bodies hot together, Keith’s arms wrapped around his neck and eagerly waiting for more, Shiro had licked his lips and Keith suddenly understood that he might very well be feeling that tongue on his dick.

Leaning into the fantasy, finally knowing the texture of Shiro’s tongue and the softness of his lips, Keith imagines the now-familiar wet heat of his mouth around his dick instead, imagines Shiro flicking the tip against his frenulum and he mimics the touch with his fingers, teasing himself to climax again. Still vaguely overstimulated from his earlier orgasm but too hard to postpone things now, his fingers curl against the soles of his sliders and his thighs tremble as he comes again, stifling his whimpering against his bicep as his hips stutter and shock forwards and he imagines pushing his dick deeper into Shiro’s mouth, his throat swallowing around him.

“Oh,” he gasps when he comes down at last, taking another moment to catch his breath and regain his footing. His fingers are starting to go pruny from the time he’s spent in the shower and he washes his hands clean of any possible residual mess before cupping water in his hands and flushing the mess from the wall with burning cheeks.

He spends another few minutes under the spray before he’s ready to go to bed, eyes closed and thinking about Shiro’s kisses.

_Tomorrow_, he thinks, and he turns off the tap with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

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